Sargasso Legs

I keep getting in my own damn way, tripping on my own legs, falling down the staircase. I keep holding myself back from good things, or great things, for safe leans and easy reclines. By design, I have rigged land mines in my mind to be set to explode at the drop of a dime – if I’m feeling too happy or doing too well, they detonate – I can’t recall how I fell or why I am laying alone on the landing, long legs sprawled out, bent wrist demanding inspection through pulsing of brutal dull pain. It seems that I’ve ruined my best plans again.